Old Habits
by EmeraldFire512
Summary: In which Stiles can't get rid of some normal, mundane fears—despite the fact that his best friend is a creature of the night. But there are some things you can can't help but worry about. Set sometime pre season 2.


**AN: So, this is my first attempt at a Teen Wolf fic, so we'll see how this goes. Basically, I just always thought this could have been a conversation at some point. And I'm always good for some best friend fluff. So please, let me know what you think!**

* * *

There was a crash outside his window, causing Stiles to sit bolt upright in bed. He took a steadying breath before turning to look out of his window.

"Scott?" he called hesitantly. A familiar groan answered him.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Stiles climbed out of his bed and made his way to his window to unlatch it. As he slid it open, his best friend tumbled through, landing on a heap on his floor, crumpling tomorrow's chemistry homework beneath him.

Stiles squinted down at the figure on his floor, "hey buddy, how's it hanging?"

"Absolutely fantastic," came the answering groan as Scott began to pull himself up. Stiles couldn't help the sharp, involuntary gasp of breath as Scott straightened up and his shirt was revealed. The gray material was completely soaked in blood.

At his friends gasp, Scott looked up sharply, "What? What's the matter?"

Stiles cleared his throat awkwardly before answering, "Nothing, it just, you know, you're covered in blood."

"Oh," Scott answered in relief, "Yeah, that's why I came here. I need to change before I go home, I can't let my mom find out. I hope you don't mind."

"No," Stiles said quickly, "nah, it's fine. Perfectly fine. No problem at all."

Scott paused in the act of heading over the dresser in which he would more likely than not find some of his own clothing. As he stopped, he looked over at his best friend.

"Stiles," he began, "what's wrong? You're nervous rambling."

"What?" Stiles replied quickly, crossing the room to sit on the edge of his bed, "No I'm not. Why would I be doing that?"

"I don't know, but you did it again."

Stiles said nothing, as he had all of a sudden become very interested in a magazine lying on the floor next to his bed. Scott sighed and crossed his arms. "Stiles," he began, "I'm not moving until you tell me what's going on."

Stiles looked up at his friend as if to say something and cringed ever so slightly, before quickly looking back to his magazine.

"There it is again!" Scott exclaimed. "Stiles, tell me what's wrong! You're starting to freak me out!"

Stiles sighed and looked up, carefully avoiding everything but Scott's eyes. "It's just," he began, "you're covered in blood. A _lot_ of blood, I might add."

Scott looked puzzled. "Yeah, but I'm fine. See?" To illustrate his point he pulled up his shirt, revealing a completely unmarred chest.

Stiles sighed again. "I know that," he replied wearily, "but there is some part of me that just really hates seeing my best friend covered in blood. Especially when it's his own. I know you have super healing powers and all, but I don't think I will ever get over it.

Stiles felt the bed sink besides him, but continued to stare resolutely at the magazine in his hand. "Stiles," Scott began, "I'm fine. Really. You don't need to worry about me."

Stiles let out a brief, humorless laugh, "I'm always going to worry about you buddy, werewolf or not. It's in my nature. Plus, I do actually kind of care about you, believe it or not."

Scott chuckled, "You know, I think I feel the same way about you." Stiles grinned in response, and Scott sobered up. "You don't have to worry that much though, really. I heal, remember? Even then, if I don't, I know you'll be there for me. You always have my back."

"I do. It's a full-time job. Actually, we should really talk about a raise, because I think I am long past due."

Scott rolled his eyes, but otherwise ignored Stiles' statement. "Whatever man. Mind if I grab a shirt?"

"Only if you promise not to destroy it on your way home. By the way, how do you explain all of your missing and destroyed clothing to your mother?

Scott scoffed, "Still working on that one actually." He reached the dresser and pulled open the middle drawer.

"Stiles, half of these shirts are mine!"

"Oh come one, that is definitely not _half_."

It's a lot! Next time my mom my mom asks about my clothes disappearing, I'll tell her they're over here!"

"That is actually not a bad plan, really."

"Stiles!"

"What! It's not like I stole them or anything, you left them here!"

"Whatever, it's still weird."

"Having a few of your shirts in my dresser is weird? Scott, yow sprout claws and your eyes turn gold. If there is any pair of friends that should be careful what we classify as weird, it's us."

Scott rolled his eyes and selected one, taking it out and replacing the blood stained shirt with the fresh one. When he was done, he turned to Stiles.

"Better?" he asked with a grin.

Stiles grinned back, "Better. Now, you'd better take that shirt with you. The last thing we need is my dad finding it and launching a full scale investigation into who is making teenaged boys bleed to death and leaving the evidence in his house."

Scott chuckled and balled the shirt up in his hand.

"See you tomorrow?" he asked.

"See you tomorrow Scott. Try not to get seriously mauled between now and then."

"I'll do my best." With a last grin, Scott leaped out the window and flipped down to the yard before bounding down the street in the direction of his home.

Once he was out of sight, Stiles walked over to shut the window again. After it was securely closed and locked, he headed back to his bed. As he crawled back in, he glanced at his alarm clock. It read 12:50. Practically mid-afternoon in the world of the Beacon Hills supernatural brigade. Still, it seemed like Stiles would be in for a calm night. With a sigh, he rolled over and returned to sleep, trying to banish all images of his best friend, covered in his own blood.


End file.
